Page 15 of Only You

TWELVE

Okay, how to not mess this up?

I have no idea. I feel like I’ve been treading lightly since that night I wanted to kiss him—since I foolishly let him know that I really wanted to kiss him. But he didn’t want that.

Doesn’t want me that way.

I know that it maybe, probably, isn’t even about me—that it has a lot to do with his past. But I can’t stop thinking about it now that it’s out there. What if he gave it a chance? What could we be?

I’ve always fucked up before—with women. I’ve made a ton of mistakes, but something is screaming at me that I just wouldn’t let that happen with Remy. Not ever.

But I know I can’t force it. If I push too hard, he’ll pull away from me again, and I might never get the chance to be in his life ever again. And that’s totally unacceptable.

I know the rest of the family knows something is up.

Dinner was a pretty clear indicator, since I can’t seem to keep my eyes off Remy when he’s around, and I’m pretty sure I look like a lost puppy when I gaze longingly at him.

Something Cason was so nice to confirm while Remy was talking to Raegan in her room.

But I haven’t talked about it, not with anyone.

I think if I actually voice it out loud, the reality will set in. A reality I just can’t face. Unrequited love is absolute bullshit, I gotta tell ya.

But he hasn’t pushed me away so far. In fact, he invited me over tonight to cook dinner with him and even bake some cookies for dessert.

We’re polite and formal as we move around the kitchen. I follow his directions as we prepare some sort of pasta dish that smells delicious already as it bakes, but I feel twitchy and awkward.

Like I don’t know what to do with myself. I’ve always been such a confident person, but I feel anything but that right now. I went to a meeting before I came here, but I’m starting to think I might need to go to another one after this.

I don’t talk about Remy, not sure why even though I think it’s the crux of my issues this week.

But something holds me back. Those people at the meetings, they aren’t my friends.

I like that it’s anonymous. That I don’t have to tell them everything about my life.

That I can sit and listen and share what I want to.

And for whatever reason, I don’t want to share Remy.

“Tatum.” His voice is so quiet, I think I might have imagined him saying my name, but when I look up, I see him looking worriedly at me. “Are you okay?”

Tell him yes. Make a joke. Anything.

“No.”

He seems to know already that would be my answer as he slowly nods his head and then takes my hand in his, leading me to the couch. “I want to try to tell you what happened. Why I’m the way I am.”

“You mean, kind, sweet, smart, and fucking impressive as shit?” I ask without even thinking about it.

He starts to look away from me, his eyes watery and sad, but I can’t have that, so I reach up and cup his cheek in my large hand, keeping his eyes on me.

“Whatever happened to you when we were younger doesn’t change any of that.

It doesn’t define you, Remy. You’re the strongest person I know. ”

He lets out a choked sob, but he doesn’t look away from me. “I promised Raegan I’d try to talk about it with you. That I’d let you in.”

I gotta thank that kid. Maybe a gift card or something. Cash. Whatever. But I don’t want him to talk to me because he feels obligated. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I owe you everything.” He looks determined now, his gaze on me, and I drop my hand from his face so I’m not making him uncomfortable. “You were there. You were always there for me. When I was a terrified little kid and when I was a terrified teenager. You were there, and I pushed you away.”

“I pushed you too hard,” I say, swallowing around the lump in my throat. I hate thinking about that day. If I could go back, I’d just make myself chill the hell out. But I knew something was wrong. I knew something bad had happened. “I wanted to fix it,” I say quietly.

It’s his turn to place his hand on my cheek, resting it there gently as I lift my eyes to his. “I didn’t want you to. I didn’t want you to try to fix me and not be able to and then blame yourself. I felt so broken.”

“You weren’t,” I say dumbly—knowing he probably won’t believe that, but I’ve never met someone so unbroken in my life.

He could have hated the world. Hid from it.

Or been a miserable person, but he didn’t do any of that.

He graduated from high school and then college—then he started working with kids.

Teaching. Making the world a better place.

And then he became a principal. He needs to know how incredible I think he is.

“The house I got sent to...” I know instantly what house he’s talking about and keep my mouth shut. “It was nice. It was in the ’burbs. Nice cut grass. Five bedrooms. My room even had an attached bathroom I could use.”

“Sounds like a dream.” But I know it wasn’t.

“It felt like it at first. The parents were nice. They wanted me to conform to being like them, but I didn’t really mind at the time. I was just so tired already. And I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” It was hard every single time we were separated. It felt impossible to track him down, no matter how hard I tried. “I thought about you every day,” I tell him honestly.

“I thought about you too.”

“What happened, Remy?” I try to keep my voice tight and controlled. Keeping the emotions at bay and telling myself that if he tells me to back off, I will.

I can’t describe the relief I feel when he talks again. But of course, it’s short-lived because I know—I just know deep down—this is going to hurt. “Everything was fine for a while. But then their son came home from college for Thanksgiving break.”

I know I need to be quiet and just let him talk, but I also know I need to hold him while I listen. So I lean back on the couch, reaching for him, and thankfully, he moves into my side, letting me hold him.

“Ricky seemed nice at first. Let me and the other foster boys hang out in his room because he had a PlayStation in there. He even snuck soda to us—which his mom wouldn’t have in the house. She was big on healthy food and beverages.”

I nod but keep my mouth shut as I hold onto him.

He’s not looking at me, both of us facing forward as he lays his head on my shoulder.

“One night, right before he was supposed to go back to college, Ricky asked me to go to his room. He gave me a soda, and I was so excited because it was just him and me. It kind of felt like an actual family. Like I had a big brother or something.”

I find my grip tightening on him a little bit but make sure I’m not hurting him. My stomach twists and aches, already hating the next part of his story without having to hear it.

“I must have fallen asleep.” His voice cracks a little, and I close my eyes, taking a deep breath.

Thinking about Remy at that age. Sweet, small, vulnerable Remy who just wanted to be loved and cared about.

Who didn’t deserve even a hangnail—let alone all the shit that happened to him his whole life.

“I woke up, and I was under the covers on his bed, and he was next to me. He looked like he was sleeping, but when I stirred, he opened his eyes. I felt groggy and strange, but wasn’t sure what was happening.

I noticed my pants were down.” A small gasp escapes from me, and I open my eyes, turning my head to look at him.

He doesn’t look my way. He’s in a daze as he continues his story.

“I asked him about it, and he said I told him that I was hot and pulled my pants down, then fell asleep. I knew it sounded wrong, but I didn’t hurt anywhere.

I couldn’t pinpoint exactly why I felt so wrong about the whole thing, but I made my exit, and I convinced myself it was fine once I got to my room.

But I didn’t feel fine. I felt like something really bad happened. ”

I hug his slight body to mine, feeling hot rage consume me, but also knowing that’s not what Remy needs right now.

“I showered, and then he left for school the next day. I convinced myself I’d imagined it all and that it didn’t matter.

Everything was fine until Christmas.” I look away from him again and close my eyes, cursing internally.

“He was home for almost a month. I avoided him as much as I could, but then he guilted me into hanging out with him. Said he didn’t understand why all of a sudden I didn’t like him.

I felt bad, like maybe I made it all up.

So I hung out with him. And it happened again but only worse. ”

He’s quiet for a really long time, and even though I don’t really want to know, I know I need to. That he needs to tell someone. “What happened, Remy?”

“I woke up in his bed again. Pants completely off this time, and his were too.” My blood runs cold, but I’m silent.

“He told me to shut up and let it happen or he’d fuck me, and he didn’t think I was quite ready for that yet.

He touched himself while touching me, and when it was over, he told me if I told anyone, no one would believe me and I’d get in trouble for lying. ”

I open my eyes, realizing they’re wet, a tear falling before I wipe it away and turn to Remy. I know that lie would have worked—mostly because it might not have even been a lie. How many kids report abuse and are told they’re lying. How many victims are actually believed? Not enough.

“I went to my room and straight to the shower. I scrubbed my skin raw, and I cried alone. It’s so stupid, Tatum. Nothing even really happened.”

“Bullshit,” I growl, and he looks at me now, his expression full of surprise. “You didn’t give him consent to touch you. Or to touch himself around you. You had that stolen from you.”